


Two Fisted

by Missy



Category: Indiana Jones Series, The Mummy Series
Genre: Bar fights, Bars and Pubs, Drinking, First Meetings, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evy walks into Marion's bar.  The experience is educational for both women.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Fisted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



The girl was not from around here.

The fragility in her pose gave her away, telegraphing a pampered past. The gentility of her poise, however, paid poor cover for the obvious steel in her alert, bright eyes. It was the sort of toughness that would get her far in this world if she played her cards right. But either way, no matter how hard she tried to blend into the crowd she stuck out, unique just by existing.

Marion had learned how to smell trouble from her brief, annoying time with Indy. And this girl wore it like a perfume.

“What can I getcha?” she asked, snapping her towel in the girl’s direction.

The girl pulled her spectacles down off her face and said in a high, sweet British accent, “your finest wine, please.” She settled onto the stool, took another glance at the book which sat, present and face-down, at her side.

They didn’t serve wine, but Marion wasn’t about to call the kid’s bluff. Instead she watered down a glass of bourbon for the girl and set it down before her. She picked it up, smiled, and sucked down the drink, her eyes crossing as she did so. A shiver ran through her body and she rubbed her temple and picked up her book, seeking to steady herself, clearly.

Marion kept an eye on the girl throughout the night, especially when a very tall man with a dozen tattoos on his upper arm sat down beside her. It was clear that he wanted her to go with him somewhere, and Marion was on edge, eyes dancing from the array of bottles lining the top of the bar. If she had to, she’d come out swinging. If she had to, she’d volt over the bar and bash the guy a good one right in the mush.

As if she’d conjured the moment, the guy reached for the girl’s arm. That was quite enough for Marion – she grabbed a thick bottle of old, poorly-flavored scotch and prepared to christen his head with it.

But before she could react, the girl had the man’s arm wrenched behind his back. Marion had never seen someone move with such speed to defend and save herself; when the woman flipped him over her back and stomped him just once in the face, a surge of strange pride filled her chest.

“Break it up!” she yelled, and dragged the man out of the room by his hair. He was pitched into the gutter and instructed to stay out, loud enough that anyone within earshot would back up Marion’s decision and agree with her choice if the guy decided to get nasty. She firmly spun her way back into the bar, where she gave the girl a large bracing glass of her best brandy on the house.

This disappeared down her throat with nary a shudder. 

“You did a great job back there,” Marion said. “What’s your name? Where did a girl like you learn how to defend yourself like that?”

“My name’s Evelyn Carnahan, I’m a librarian, and I’ve been through an ordeal or two,” she explained. “I don’t suppose you’d like to hear about it.”

“Only if you don’t mind hearing about my ordeal in return,” Marion said. 

Evelyn leaned against the bar, smiled, and set the book aside. “I was in Cairo when…”


End file.
